


Bound

by Apuzzlingprince



Series: Witcher Fanfics [9]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bondage, Infidelity, M/M, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-04-19 19:56:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14244609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apuzzlingprince/pseuds/Apuzzlingprince
Summary: Dandelion comes upon Geralt shackled to a bed and decides it's the perfect opportunity for some play.





	Bound

**Author's Note:**

> Someone suggested Geralt/Dandelion a while back, and I've finally gotten around to posting it (it's been in my drafts of ages!)

A short burst of laughter snapped Geralt out of his meditative state. The shackles binding him to the frame of a bed permitted minimal movement, but he was able to raise himself off the mattress enough to see Dandelion strutting into the room Yennefer and Triss had abandoned him in. Having spent the night bound to the bed in nothing in his underwear, Dandelion's appearance elicited in Geralt just as much relief as it did annoyance. He was cold, numb, and sore, and he was looking forward to pulling on some warm clothes and forgetting this whole ordeal had ever happened.

“Well, well,” said Dandelion, and much to Geralt's chagrin, he gazed down at Geralt instead of removing the shackles. “Ladies did quite a number on you.”

Geralt cast him a glare. Cold and dejected as he was, he was in no mood for Dandelion's wit. “Do a number on  _you_  if you don’t-!"

“In you shoes, my friend," interrupted Dandelion, his glee unfaltering. "I’d be promising mounds of gold,  _not_  making threats." 

His relief may have been premature. 

“Untie me now," he snarled. "Or you’ll need that gold to replace your teeth!" He had no intention of enacting his threats; he never did, and Dandelion was well aware of that, but spitting and snarling made the situation moderately less humiliating.

Instead of reacting how Geralt wanted, Dandelion laughed again. “You’d have to catch me first, and you don’t exactly look like you’re getting out of here anytime soon.”

There were numerous slanderous things Geralt could have said in response to that comment, every single one of them implying cowardice, but Geralt feared Dandelion really would leave if he spoke them. Threats, Dandelion could take in stride; personal slights, however? He was quick to become indignant and defensive. “Dandelion,” he whined, throwing his head back in a show of exasperation. This, thankfully, was a piteous enough display to compel Dandelion into action.

“Alright, alright,” said Dandelion, finally circling around to where he was lying. “Sorry, don’t often see you like this. Couldn’t resist.”

The poet knelt at his side and slid a thumb up under one of his restraints, getting a feel of the marks he had inflicted on his own wrists through struggling. He had thought, during his first hour of being bound, that he would be able to wrench himself free. He had been wrong.

“How do you feel?” Dandelion asked, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the blemished flesh, kneading the pain out of it. “Bit numb, I bet.”

Geralt dropped back to the mattress and looked away. Anger had given way for shame, and it was hard to imagine a more shameful situation that this. It was a small consolation that the only person who would ever get to see him in this state was Dandelion.

“You did a number on your wrists,” Dandelion murmured, but he had moved beyond them, to Geralt’s hands, which he squeezed gently with his warm fingers, compelling blood and feeling back into them. The tingling that extended from Geralt's elbows to his palms abated a bit. “You should never struggle in these situations. You’ll only succeed in hurting yourself.”

“Haven’t been tied up enough to know that,” said Geralt wryly. “Are you going to untie me or not?”

“In a minute.” Dandelion curled his hands around Geralt’s. His skin was thick in some areas, calloused, but not from hard labour. From his flute strings, which worked away at the skin if one played for long enough, and Dandelion scarcely put his down. “Like I said,” he continued in a mumble, sounding distracted. “I don’t often see you like this.”

Geralt groaned through his teeth. “Enough of that, Dandelion.”

Dandelion regarded him curiously. “Enough of what?”

“You're thinking something lecherous instead of removing my restraints.”

Dandelion looked taken aback, and then indignant. “I most certainly am not.”

"Then what are you thinking about, lecherous poet?" he asked. He knew he was pushing his luck, but he couldn't help himself; Dandelion deserved some nettling after laughing at Geralt's predicament. "You aren't caressing me for no reason.”

“Applying my mouth to your nether regions, admittedly,” said Dandelion, huffing. “But there is nothing  _lecherous_  about that. That particular word has negative connotations and we both know there’s nothing negative about giving or receiving pleasure.”

"When it comes from your mind, I'm inclined to disagree."

Dandelion abruptly withdrew from Geralt’s wrists, arms crossed. “Maybe I should just shove something up your behind and leave you here. Give you some time to think about how little appreciation you show me.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“Why shouldn’t I?" asked Dandelion. "You’ve been nothing but  _rude_  to me lately.”

"And  _you've_  been a saint?"

"That's not an answer."

Dandelion started to turn, to abandon Geralt to the cold, stale air and hard mattress, and Geralt shot up as far as he could in bed without dislocating a shoulder. “Hey, get back here!”

“You didn't answer me: why should I?” asked Dandelion, pausing and looking over his shoulder at Geralt. “You threatened me and insulted me. It seems like you would benefit from more time to cool off.”

"Dandelion,” said Geralt again in that same, elongated way he had earlier. 

“Yes, Geralt?”

Geralt took a moment to calm himself down before he spoke again. “Alright, fine. I'm sorry.”

"That’s better,” said Dandelion approvingly, returning to Geralt’s side. He resumed kneeling beside the bed, but he didn’t reach for Geralt’s restraints. “However, I can think of another way to make it up to me, and perhaps perform some penance for those poor girls." He smiled at Geralt like one would a hapless child. Where women were concerned, Dandelion considered himself an authority, and this was despite the fact that he had never maintained a relationship for more than a couple of weeks before his cheating ways put him in dire straits. "You never would have been able to have both, you know," he added, which nearly had Geralt rolling his eyes.

“You’re one to talk,” said Geralt, but quietly, so the words would be hard to distinguish. He didn’t need Dandelion attempting to leave again. “Alright, what do you want?” He hoped it would be something that required the liberation of his hands.

“I wish to bed you.”

Geralt arched an eyebrow at him. That didn't sound much like penance to him. After spending the night exposed Novigrad's frigid air, a quick romp would go a long way towards warming him up. “Fine. Hop up.”

Dandelion sat down on the edge of the bed and reached for his gaudy slip-ons. Geralt hoped he would take off the entire outfit before they began. The hat especially needed to go; Geralt wouldn’t be able to maintain an erection if he had to watch that garish thing slip further and further down Dandelion’s head.

“We’re going to need some oil,” said Dandelion thoughtfully, now starting on his pantaloons. Geralt was always glad when he removed those, even outside a sexual context. “I don’t suppose the girls left any?”

“Near the fruit bowl.” He gestured with a foot. 

Dandelion shunted off his vest and undershirt, and finally, removed his hat. He wasn’t bad looking when he was naked. Lean, muscular, and hair in all the right places. For someone in their mid-forties who lived a physically undemanding lifestyle, he had a nice figure. Most would be developing a pot belly by his age.

The poet retrieved a flask of oil from the table Geralt had indicated. He popped it open and gave it a sniff, making an approving sound. On his way back to the bed, he retrieved the bottle of wine the girls had left and a goblet.

“We’ll start with this,” said Dandelion, placing the oil aside and pouring a generous amount of wine into his goblet, much to Geralt’s confusion. “Would you like some?”

Geralt licked his lips. Yennefer and Triss had spared no expense on the wine; he could smell that it was an aged bottle from the vineyards of Toussaint. “Yes.”

Dandelion leaned over his chest, tapping Geralt’s bottom lip with a finger. “You’ll need to open your mouth.”

“You could just release my hands.”

“I like this way better.”

Reluctantly, Geralt did, and swallowed down the wine Dandelion poured between his lips. But Dandelion didn’t stop pouring once Geralt had swallowed his fill. He spilt it on Geralt’s lips, let it slide in thick rivulets down his neck, get caught in the hollow of his collarbone and pool on his belly. Geralt spluttered and bared his teeth at the poet, but Dandelion merely continued to pour until every last drop had evacuated the goblet.

Geralt was left completely soaked.

“What the hell was that for?” he asked in a growl, fisting his hands until his knuckles turned white. He might not have punched Dandelion, had they been free, but he might have given him a slap around the head at the very least. Make his ears ring. He’d earned it.

Dandelion sighed. “You are such a vapid, unerotic man, Geralt. It’s a wonder the girls didn’t leave you sooner.” With that said, he leaned down and licked a stripe up the dip between Geralt’s pectorals, drawing wine into his mouth as he went. Geralt breath stuttered in his throat. “Doesn’t that feel nice?” asked Dandelion, descending to lick a stray droplet of wine off of Geralt’s nipple. It immediately started to pearl.

It did indeed feel nice, but Geralt wasn’t about to admit it. “Could’ve warned me.”

“Right, sorry. I thought what I was doing would have been obvious to anyone with a single romantic bone in their body,” said Dandelion wryly. “Evidently, you do not possess such a bone.”

“Dandelion, unless you want the bones in your jaw relocated to your skull, I suggest you proceed in silence.”

“So boorish.” Dandelion closed his mouth over Geralt’s nipple and bit down, drawing a gasp from Geralt. He sucked nice and hard a few times before he dislodged, leaving behind a deep red ring and a very hard, pink nipple that ached faintly. All the blood that had evacuated Geralt’s hands seemed to pool straight down into his crotch at the sight of it. He did so love it when people left their mark on him.

“That was a nice sound you just made,” said Dandelion.

Geralt was too aroused to be angry, now. “Didn’t know you had it in you to bite.”

“What do you think of me as, Geralt? Some kind of swooning milksop?” Dandelion continued his journey down Geralt’s body, licking up wine here and there and peppering kisses over scars, his beard scratching Geralt’s skin.

“You  _are_  a swooning milksop.”

Dandelion bit again, this time at the jut of a hip. Geralt groaned and jerked at the shackles.

“Well, well.” Dandelion grinned at him salaciously. “Quite the swooner yourself when one presses the right buttons.”

Geralt lifted his hips off the bed, trying to provoke another bite. “Do it again.”

“Certainly.” After applying a light kiss to the mark he had left, Dandelion descended to his thigh, biting and licking at the crease between his leg and hip, drawing Geralt’s underwear down as he did. Geralt’s cock jutted up at the ceiling the moment it was free of its confines. Dandelion nudged his lips against the underside, then moved slowly toward the crease between Geralt's thigh and buttocks, his breath warm on Geralt’s sweaty skin.

“What’re you doing?” asked Geralt, breathless and adrift in the sensations caused by Dandelion’s talented mouth. He was good for something other than talking after all. “What are you- shi- ah!” The poet had bitten hard at the clef of his ass. He didn’t dislodge until a bright red mark had developed, and then proceeded to apply smaller bites up the length of his thigh.

“You  _ass_ ,” Geralt hissed once he was done. “I'm going to feel that every time I sit down."

“Well, this can’t all be fun,” said Dandelion with a chuckle. “I did say it was penance.”

“Should’ve brought a whip if you wanted penance.”

“Oh, no. Whips aren’t my style. Didn’t think they were yours, either.” Dandelion crawled fully onto the bed, leaning over Geralt to resume licking up the remnants of the wine. Most of it had soaked into the sheets, having slipped off of him when Dandelion’s bites compelled movement. “I think what I have in mind will more than suffice to humble you,” he said between licks.

“Don’t think I’m the one who needs humbling,” muttered Geralt.

Heaving himself onto Geralt's hips, Dandelion leaned down to claim a kiss from his lips and mumbled something entirely too wet and lewd into his mouth. His hands abandoned Geralt’s skin to tangle in his long white hair, drawing it out of its loose ponytail and sending it sprawling down his shoulders. Geralt raised his hips and ground against the soft clef of Dandelion’s ass as best he could, desperate for some contact.

Dandelion’s soft lips melded over his and his fingers grazed Geralt’s scalp, stroking in a way that made his skin tingle. He melted under Dandelion’s touch in a way he never had before. Perhaps because in the past, he had treated their coupling as a necessary, perfunctory thing to stave off the cold and loneliness. This was much, much nicer, and he made a distant mental note to let it happen more often.

When Dandelion finally withdrew, Geralt was breathless and painfully hard and rutting against the man’s ass like an animal, thoughtless in his arousal. Dandelion plucked the flask of oil off the bedside table and backed up until he was seated on Geralt’s thighs, forcing him to remain flat on the mattress. He poured a dollop of oil onto his palm and rubbed it into his skin, then proceeded to give Geralt’s cock one long stroke that drove a rumbling moan out of Geralt’s lungs. Dandelion came very close to being bucked off with how desperately Geralt pressed into his hand, but held steady by seizing Geralt’s knee.

“Stop squirming,” Dandelion instructed, and Geralt tried to oblige, but Dandelion’s forefinger was pressed to the underside of his cock and rubbing at a particularly sensitive area and he couldn’t help the roll of his hips or the arch of his back. They were entirely involuntary. Dandelion gave a little puff of annoyance and dribbled more oil onto his stroking fingers, further slickening Geralt’s cock.

“Dandelion,” Geralt breathed, frowning at the poet, sweaty and red-faced. “Let me- let me fuck you. Let me-“

“Hush.” Dandelion gave the base of his cock a particularly hard squeeze and Geralt shuddered. “Later, maybe. I just want to watch you, right now.”

“What’s that even mean?” asked Geralt, disorientated. “Watch me?”

“Watch you.” Quite abruptly, Dandelion scooped up a gossamer of oil and proceeded to slide a finger into Geralt, watching him closely for his reaction. Geralt, for his part, choked on the breath he’d been holding and clenched so hard around that finger that he was sure he cut off circulation. Dandelion didn't seem deterred in the slightest.

“Get that out of there,” he said grumpily, without any real force. It wasn’t an unpleasant presence. Not in the least. If he moved a little further, Dandelion would probably be able to nudge that place Regis had helped him discover back in the days of the Hansa – but he wasn’t about to 'humble' himself and ask. “I don’t know where it’s been, but I can  _guess,_ ” he added.

“You can’t contract diseases,” said Dandelion, offended. “Besides which, I don’t have any. Now, stop whining. If you didn’t want it in there you would have kicked me.”

Geralt grunted his displeasure, but did not deny the truth in Dandelion’s words. He was a shit liar.

The finger slid deeper, right up to the knuckle. Only after Geralt started to relax did Dandelion add an additional one and resume stroking Geralt’s cock. Dandelion’s own was hard and warm against Geralt’s leg, sliding languidly along his sweaty skin each time Dandelion shifted his hips. 

Geralt allowed himself once more to slip into a euphoric daze. The fingers, though unusual, did feel good, and particularly when they rubbed at the little bundle of nerves that Geralt could never quite get to the few times he had tried himself.

His eyes fell shut and his head fell back. He breathed deeply, mouth open, and only moved when necessary to encourage stronger stimulation from Dandelion. The man was used to the quality of woman that favoured soft, sweet touches, and it was a preference demonstrated in his inability to press as hard and deep as Geralt needed him to. He provided just enough pressure to keep Geralt frustratingly, painfully on the edge of orgasm.

“Deeper, Dandelion,” he murmured, pressing down on his fingers to emphasise his demand.

Dandelion gave one good hard stroke in response and a tingle of pleasure raced down Geralt’s spine. “Unless you want my entire hand up there, that’s as deep as I can go.”

“Then put it up there,” he demanded, and Dandelion startled, withdrawing his fingers.

“I'm not about to put either of us through  _that_ , but very well,” said Dandelion. “No need to get angry. I’m not one to leave my partners dissatisfied.” Positioning himself between Geralt’s legs, Dandelion poured a messy trail of oil over his cock and Geralt’s opening, smearing it with his palm. Geralt impatiently and shamelessly ground against the hot underside of his arousal. When Geralt was in the mood for anal, Dandelion wouldn't usually be his first choice – or his second, for that matter – but in these circumstances, he was willing to make do with any reasonably large cock in his vicinity, and Dandelion happened to be in possession of a nice, thick one which no doubt contributed to his popularity among the girls.

Its decent size became very apparent as Dandelion slid smoothly inside. Geralt let out one long, keening note and pressed down as far as he could, until he felt Dandelion’s pelvis straining against the clef of his ass. Dandelion had to take a moment to orientate himself, his head hanging between his shoulders and his jaw loose, and then slowly curled his hands over Geralt’s hips to steady him while he set into a suitably rough rhythm.

Curling his strong legs around Dandelion’s waist, Geralt took in as much as he could, as deep as he could, as hard as he could, and was rewarded with a rapturous pleasure that made his entire body tremble. When his ass involuntarily tightened around Dandelion, Dandelion cried out and bowed over him like he was something holy. He was shaking just as much as Geralt was. He’d had sex with Geralt before, certainly, but never quite like this; never this intense, with Geralt being this demanding. It took him a moment to collect himself and resume thrusting.

Geralt parted his eyelids just enough to watch a drop of sweat trail from Dandelion’s hairline to his jaw and soak into the light fuzz there. He was flushed, sweaty, and panting, struggling to keep up the pace Geralt wanted, but eager to try. Geralt closed his eyes again and ground down to meet a particularly hard thrust, jaw falling open in a moan as a delectable pressure gathered in his abdomen. Seeming to realise Geralt was close, Dandelion wound a hand around Geralt's cock and gave it several slippery strokes. Geralt cried out so loud that the entire pub and perhaps even a few people meandering the streets beyond their room would have heard and proceeded to spill into Dandelion’s hand. When he had ridden out his orgasm, he fell bonelessly to the mattress and breathed hard, shivering from head to toe.

Dandelion followed after a few more jerking thrusts, filling Geralt with warm ejaculation. Geralt hadn’t had the presence of mind to ask that he pull out. Now he was filthy, sopping wet inside and out.

After catching his breath, Dandelion leaned over him, his sweaty forehead pressed to Geralt’s chest, hair sticking to both their skins. Geralt would have stroked a hand through his hair to show his appreciation, but they were currently still secured tight to the bed.

“Gonna get these off now?” asked Geralt, giving the dimeritium shackles a feeble shake.

With considerable effort, Dandelion managed rise to his hunches. “Oh- yes. Yes, of course. I think I’ll…” He swallowed, licking sweat off his lips. “Think I’ll arrange a bath for us as well. We’re filthy.”

“A hot bath sounds wonderful.” Geralt lowered his head to the mattress, eyelids drooping. He could have gone to sleep – but he wouldn’t; he  _really_  wanted that bath. “Shackles, Dandelion.”

“Right, right.” The poet slid out of him, and so did much of his ejaculation. Geralt felt for whatever poor soul was tasked with changing the linens.

On weak legs, Dandelion ambled over to his pile of clothes and dug out a key from within them, then sat at Geralt’s side and undid his bindings. It was a relief to finally get them off. His wrists were so bruised now he wouldn’t be able to wear anything with short sleeves for at least a week.

Still seated on the side of the bed, Dandelion leaned down and pressed a sloppy kiss above his right eyebrow. “I adore you so, Geralt.”

For once, Geralt kept any witty comments he could have made to himself.

* * *

A tub was brought up at Dandelion’s request and filled to the brim with steaming hot water. Geralt entered first, eager to soothe his wrists and clean the evidence of their lovemaking off the insides of his thighs, where cum had quickly begun to congeal. He slid into the water with a sigh and let his head drop to the rim, watching in dazed tranquillity as Dandelion entered via the opposite side of the tub. It was small enough that Dandelion’s feet grazed his thighs and hip as the man stretched out to make himself comfortable.

Dandelion handed him a wash cloth, which Geralt promptly shoved between his own legs.

“You know what would be an intriguing story?” asked Dandelion while Geralt scrubbed himself clean.

Geralt didn’t particularly feel like talking, but he replied anyway. “What?”

“A tale of forbidden love between a poet and a witcher.”

Geralt snorted. “We just fucked. It’s hardly forbidden.”

“So you do love me,” said Dandelion, and Geralt looked up to see him grinning foolishly.

Geralt heaved a sigh, but did so in an indulgent fashion. “Yes, Dandelion. Now banish those thoughts. I’ll throw your writings into a fire if you try to release such a story.”

“I could change our names.”

“Mhm, right, and I’m sure no one would guess who you are referring to despite it being common knowledge that you have a witcher friend.”

“Oh, very well.” Dandelion huffed. “I’ll make the poet a woman. Better?”

“They’d still guess it was you.”

Dandelion glared at him.

“I don’t like what you’re implying there, Geralt,” said the poet, wading through to where he was seated. He planted his hands on Geralt’s chest beneath the water, pressing him against the edge of the tub. Geralt didn't try to slide out from under him despite how easy it would have been. “Maybe I should plough you again to remind you I am indeed a man, despite not being a boor that revels in blood and barbarity.”

Smiling, Geralt reached up behind Dandelion’s head and drew him down for a kiss. “You know I'm teasing,” murmured Geralt against his lips. “Sit with me a while. We can return to the bed later, and then you can decide if you're still in the mood to plough me.” He guided Dandelion to lying against his chest, wrapping an arm around the man’s waist to prevent him from slipping off. Dandelion relaxed in his grasp and tucked his face between Geralt’s jaw and neck, kissing the hollow of Geralt's throat. 

“We do still need to talk about the girls,” murmured Dandelion.

Geralt gave his back a chastising slap. “Don’t ruin the moment.” Triss and Yen were the last thing he wanted to think about right now. He was going to have a hard time looking them in the eye when next he saw them.

“Alright,” said Dandelion, continuing to apply lazy kisses to Geralt's skin.


End file.
